


Unsung

by snarkengaged



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 07:30:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17178566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkengaged/pseuds/snarkengaged
Summary: Just another Ghost story. Originally posted on tumblr.





	Unsung

They’d never chosen a name.  
  
That was usually a priority for Guardians when their Ghosts had found them-when they were not even memories, every second new and terrifying, scattered across the bones of Earth. The Ghost knew it was one of those things-a “living” thing, or maybe a dying thing-that was instinctual in a way it’d never quite get. It had never bothered to question it’s Guardian’s inclination. A name had never seemed necessary for the Ghost itself, after all-it was content in it’s role, happy, even. It’s purpose had taken so long to get here that it didn’t much mind it’s default title. Besides, ‘Ghost’ fit it well enough. Who did it talk to, really, without the presence of it’s Guardian? They’d always been “you two.” In private, of course, there’d never been a need for names, for separation. Where one went, so was the other.  
  
Seemed it’s Guardian felt the same, which was just another sign they were right for each other. Perfect. As if the Ghost didn't already know that.  
  
Most Guardians waited a day or two, used the long trek back to the Tower to mull over what-who-they were now. Some didn’t. They’d wake up knowing-what, the Ghost couldn't imagine-introducing themselves, before rushing off. There was the odd Guardian who chose something that the Ghost’s Guardian would sneer at, call ‘goofy.’ Guardians were funny that way; you got the ones who saw in their new leases a solemn duty, but you also'd get the weird bleak ones, with fixed grins.  
  
But they’d never felt the need themselves. Who needs a name, they’d joked darkly, when we’ll never be on lists of the dead?  
  
*  
  
The Ghost remembered that moment-the way their hard eyes had twinkled-when the Tower was burning, and it found itself again picking over corpses.  
  
Two days had felt so long in the uncertainty. The Traveller had not answered-that was nothing new-but the Light had not answered, and that? That was…indescribable.  
  
In this painful new reality, the Ghost found that the worst silence had been from their Guardian. It didn’t blame them, exactly, but it was badly hurt itself. It spent an agonizing amount of time wondering if it should head out of the City, try to regroup. Where would it go? Before the thought could even fully form, it had already circled back. Even knowing it's Guardian might be gone, it still felt: but where are they?  
  
It couldn’t, of course. Every time it huddled within a storefront, every time it was on the verge of leaving, an image would lance through it of a gloved hand scrabbling uselessly in the wreckage. It would hear a voice that couldn’t do more than whisper through cracked lips; see eyes unfocused yet searching desperately for it. And the Ghost knew it could never leave.   
  
It’s nightmare changed then, once it knew it's fate would be success snatched from calamity's jaws or it's own demise. Instead, it turned to an all-consuming terror: that without a name to call through the rubble, their Guardian would die alone.  
  
*  
  
They didn’t.   
  
*  
  
Yet they did die, again and again, many times after that, and the Ghost was always there to claw them back.

Every time, without fail, the Ghost remembered separation. 


End file.
